


Steve Rogers Has A Dirty Mouth

by a_xmasmurder



Series: Marvel Bites [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Cussing, Multi, Running Joke, Swearing, steve rogers has a dirty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The running joke is that Captain America doesn't swear. </p><p>They ain't heard nothin' yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve Rogers Has A Dirty Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm posting this because I hate it and don't want to look at it anymore. Unbetaed. Good luck.

“Incoming!” Tony shouts with glee.

Steve Rogers drops to the deck before Stark blows past at waist-clipping height at full war power. The backblast of his repulsors throws dust and forest debris everywhere. Steve squeezes his eyes shut in frustration and bangs his head on the ground. 

“Watch it, Rogers.” Bucky’s soft voice carries over the din of battle, injected straight into Steve’s right ear via a special little comm link that is theirs and theirs alone. Well, Clint’s too, when he decides he’s good enough to break the encryption on it. Again.

“What? I didn’t say anything,” Steve mutters. “He’s really got to stop doing that.”

“I could hear you all the way up here, doofus.” Steve hears Bucky admonish Stark on the other line in his left ear and over their personal comm link and whoa, that’s enough to give someone vertigo. 

“Quite the colorful language yourself, there, Buck.” 

“I’m not ‘The All-American Superhero’, am I? Gotta have someone to keep you lookin’ so squeaky clean. Bound to be me. At least I look the part of a dirty gutter rat.”

“Ha. Hilarious. I’ll have you know I get worse when I hang around your grimy ass.”

“Must be all the Brooklyn rubbin’ off on ya, there, pal.” 

“You guys know you’re on the public channel, right?” Sam swoops down and lands as Steve spits dirt and gets to his knees. “As well as your private chatroom? Might want to curtail that foul language.”

“To hell with you all.” Steve mutters. Bucky cackles from the safety of his sniper’s nest. In Steve’s left ear, Clint is laughing just as hard in his own nest. “Shut up!” The blast of an explosion up ahead echoes through the trees, and Steve winces. He heard that in stereo, too. Tony must be -

“No chance of - shit, _incoming_!” Clint’s tone changes intensity, and both Steve and Sam throw themselves out of the way of a flaming Iron Man coming from the opposite direction. Steve opens his mouth to rip Tony a completely new hole when he realizes that he hadn’t been zooming merrily along on his repulsors while on fire. He’d been flying backwards while on _fire._

_Oh shit._

Sam’s the first to move, and thanks to his wings is the first to arrive at the hole in the cliffside, freshly excavated by one Anthony Stark, Man of Iron. Rocks and dirt rain down through the cavity as Steve pushes Sam out of the way to get to Tony. “Are you hurt? Talk to me! Stark!” Steve can’t help the panic tingeing his voice. After Manhattan, seeing Tony like that…

“Gah, someone told S.H.I.E.L.D. we’d be dancing with Hydra again and they sent their D team to help.” Tony groaned as Steve pulled debris off his suit. At least the external speakers are working, even if they are a shade crackly and out of sync. “Oh, wait, that was me. Hey, guys, the S.H.I.E.L.D. lackeys are here.” More rocks fell down, clanging off his armor. “They need to stop helping unless we actually, y’know, want their help.”

“Hey, I’m sure you told them to stay home if they couldn’t get here on time,” Clint says.

“Well, they joined the party anyway.” Steve sets his hand against the charred chest piece beneath him, only to jerk back with a hiss and stare at his blistering and red palm. 

“Oh, yeah, FRIDAY says the ambient external temperature is over one thousand degrees, so either you all are Lava People or that gauge is scrap. Did I mention I was on fire? Because I was. I wouldn’t recommend that, by the way.”

Bucky’s barking in Steve’s right ear. “Asshole, I know you can hear me! Is he breathing?”

Steve sighs and shakes his hand to battle the ache of the burn. “His mouth is opening, and sound is coming out. Does that count?”

“Probably, though you try to talk through an asthma attack.” No one corrects Bucky’s tense issues anymore, he only glares at them. “I’ve got eyes on the dick with the rocket launcher. Looks like our friends from S.H.I.E.L.D sent the Army as backup.”

“Oh, for the love of - “ Steve growls. 

“Language, Rogers,” Natasha snickers. 

“I. Didn’t. Say anything!” Steve pushes to his feet. “That’s not the Army, that’s just the last resort team. The Army wouldn’t waste an RPG on Stark.” 

Tony snorts. “Why not? They have chased me with fighter jets.”

“Alright, let’s get a move on, we can grab whatever stragglers are left and tell the latecomers that their job is finished for them and we can all go home. Stark, your suit is hot, don’t get out. ”

“Thank you. As if I didn’t notice when I was on fire. Did we miss that?”

Sam nods. “I don’t know, man. You were going pretty fast.”

“Oh, so helpful, Wilson, thank you for that,” Tony grouses, then grunts. “And I’m welded in here, can’t move anyway. FRIDAY, call someone with a can opener, please?”

A shot sparks off Tony’s shoulder, ringing dully in the smoky air. After everyone in the vicinity recovers from that heart attack, Steve glares up to where Bucky is. “What the hell!”

“Can opener, Rogers.”

“Firing into a cave, really brilliant, Barnes. Did we forget the part where we don’t shoot our friends?”

“Way to give away your position, dumbass,” Clint mutters over the regular comms. An arrow arcs in and inbeds itself into the shoulder joint of Tony’s suit. “That’s how you do it.”

 _“Pleasetellmethatisn’texplosiveClintyoujerk!”_ Steve bleats as he takes cover yet again.

“Uh…” Tony starts.

POP!

The arrowhead widens into two prying arms, then falls out of the joint with a ping. 

Clint grunts. “Huh. It’s not explosive. But that was interesting. Forgot I had that one.”

Steve takes several deep breaths to control the urge to march his weary butt up the other cliffside to beat both those knuckleheads into a bloody heap. “Can we please stop with the can opener?”

“How did you do that...turn thing? With the arrow?” Bucky sounds...oh, God, he sounds interested. Steve wonders, not for the first time, if those two are bumping uglies on their off-days. Christ, that’s...that’s a mental image he does not need. Ugh, brain bleach. Etch-a-Sketch it away. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, baby doll,” Clint drawls, all treacle and cotton candy and Steve is going to be sick all over Tony’s smoking suit. 

“Shut up, please, for the love of everything good in this world, shut up.” Steve pushes to his feet and stalks off to find their ‘help’, if only to yell at them until the mental image of Bucky and Clint doin’ the do out of his aching head. 

Tony bangs his head a few times into the rocky debris. “That didn’t work. Hey, where are you going?”

“To yell at someone until my head stops hurting.”

“Bring me back a smoothie from the Quinjet?”

Steve hopes he drops dead from something tropical and incurable before he ever gets that man a damned smoothie. “Sure.”

“Thanks, you’re a doll. FRIDAY, call Pepper and tell her I’m gonna be a bit late for our dinner date. Oh, and grab a can opener while you are at it, Cap!”

“I’m going to kill everyone in this forest,” Steve growls, gritting his molars together so hard he’s afraid he’s going to break one or two. “Everyone.”

“We can still hear you.” Leave it to Natasha to point out the obvious. 

“That’s the _point!_ ” Steve shouts.

It doesn’t take very long to find the S.H.I.E.L.D. group. Steve hasn’t even had time to build a full head of steam, and with Bucky nipping at him from a mile away through the earpiece he’s about ready to just set some charges to blow this forest to chopsticks. Which reminds him that he’s starving for so much Chinese food he won’t be able to walk home, let alone fit himself and his food baby into the Quinjet. Take-out. He could get it to go and gorge himself at the Tower. Like, a metric ton of chicken fried rice and twice that of shrimp. Oh, shrimp. Lovely, lovely steaming shrimp and rice and crab rangoons and at least a case of beer...

He falls face first into a puddle, his ankle suddenly the hot and very painful center of his universe. He twists at the hip, looking over to see the jaws of a steel trap engulfing his boot. The trap is shiny with oil and he knows it’s his own damned fault for not noticing the thing but he’s sure it wasn’t there before.

“Steve! _Steve!_ You are ignoring me again, you asshole -”

“Not ignoring you! I was thinking of food and now I’m...” Steve grunts and pulls and gets the jaws open as Bucky and now Sam yell at him in each ear. His head is hurting worse. “Shut up for a second and let me get sorted!” He yanks his foot out and yelps. Pounding feet alert him to either their help or their enemy, and he whips around. “Don’t move! There’s traps along the path!”

A gasping man halts at the edge of the path. “Sorry, Commander. Ha...we know. We set them.”

Steve blinks. “ _You_ set them?”

“Yeah.” The man waves a hand. “What is left of Hydra’s forces here have been rounded up and taken care of. You guys can pack up and go home. Thanks for the help, but we’ve got it now.”

In his ear, Bucky snorts. “Oh boy. Everyone, ears on. This is going to be good.”

“That’s not very nice, Bucky. Steve did nearly get his foot taken off,” Natasha sighed.

“And that’s why I’m saying ears on. His head’s about to fly off.”

Steve ignores this. He’s staring at the agent. “There’s no more Hydra agents on the ground, and you set traps?”

“Yeah, for stragglers.”

“You set traps.” Steve blinks again, because he’s having a hard time wrapping his head around this development. “For stragglers, even though you said that you have everyone accounted for. You set traps in a forest without warning friendly forces that are still in the area.”

Finally, the man is starting to look a little worried. “Uh, yeah. Well, we were going to say something, but…”

Steve, still half-laid out on the dirt and leaves, inclines his head to urge the man on.

“Um...I forgot to radio ahead.”

Over the earpiece, Clint coughs. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. They are on comms.”

Steve stares in incredulous silence. “You forgot.”

“Yessir.”

Steve starts laughing. It’s the sort of laugh one wouldn’t want to hear coming out of a six foot four supersoldier. “Jesus jackhammerin’ Christ.” He runs a grimy hand over his face, spreading the gritty muck.

Bucky, in his infinite wisdom, groans. In delight.

“Sir?” The man steps forward, hands out like he’s going to try to help Steve up. 

Steve shakes his head. “Oh, no. No. You stay away from me. I don’t want your clumsy ass anywhere near me.” He pushes up to his knees, his ankle screaming at him in red-hot agony. “I don’t want the stupid to rub off.” He hobbles to his feet. “You _forgot?_ How in the blue reaches of the great beyond do you forget to warn someone that ‘oh, yeah, we think that setting a buncha bear traps is gonna stop what little is left of one of the greatest enemies we have ever had’? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Sir -”

Steve holds up his hands. “No. No. Don’t talk. Don’t try to explain, there is no possible explanation that you have that is going to convince me you have a damned lick of sense in that hollow head of yours! Are you even field-trained?”

“Yessir,” the man whispers. 

“How? How are you trained? Was your trainer stoned when he passed you? What the hell was he smoking, because -”

“She, sir.”

“What?” Steve barks.

“She.”

“Like that makes a difference? Does that make a difference, Agent?” His voice is a combination of his commanding ‘Captain’ tone and his native Brooklyn accent. He can hear the utter silence in his ears. He’s too mad to care.

The agent cowers, and the others behind him do the same. “Nosir.”

“You somehow, by the flaming seat of your pants, managed to pass muster enough to get out here, ready to seal your chances at getting higher on the food chain, only to trap Captain America in one of your lack-brained traps! What part of this sounded like a good idea at the time, I’d like to know. I’d really like to know. And then I’m going to want the name of your superior, because I’d like to meet the idiot that lets someone like you out here!”

The agent points to a man walking towards them… Steve goes goggle-eyed because “Hot damn, it’s the RPG prick!” He nearly shouts in angry exaltation because holy _shit._ “The son of a bitch that nearly fried Iron Man! That’s your superior?”

“Iron...Man?” The agent turns around as the RPG-wielding man stalks up to Steve. “You shot Iron Man?”

“Oh? This is a _surprise_ to you?” Steve snorts. “You break my ankle in a booby trap and now you are shocked to find out that this tool-” He points at RPG man “ - nearly killed Tony Stark?”

“He flew into the path of the rocket.” RPG man is pissed. “What makes you think you can talk to my men like that, Rogers?”

Steve’s ear crackles with a muttered, “Wow, that man wants to die…” and he snorts. “You’re kiddin’, right? You’re pullin’ my leg. Let’s start from the beginning. I’m tired. I’m hungry. The Avengers and I have been here for the better part of a week scouting and setting up for a run at this place. Then S.H.I.E.L.D. in its infinite wisdom drops the ball, so we have to go in with little intel and not much by way of back up. And then, when we are nearly finished with the job, you come in with your happy troop of idiots and _blow my second in command out of the fucking sky!_ ” He’s losing control of his mouth, but he doesn’t care. He holds up his finger when Mr. RPG opens his mouth. “But wait! There’s more! When I come over to track your happy ass down to chat with you about how we don’t fire on friendlies, your goddamned peon has traps set up without alerting anyone, and I now have a fuckin’ broken ankle. And his reason for not letting anyone know? _He fuckin’ forgot to tell us!_ So you tell me why I shouldn’t be taking you all to task for this complete FUBARed mission!” Mr. RPG gets close enough that Steve can read his name and rank, and he didn’t think that was a thing in S.H.I.E.L.D. to actually have your name and rank on your uniform. “And you aren’t wearing your kit right, Agent Murphy.”

Agent Murphy-With-The-RPG looks ready to blow a gasket. “That is not important, _Captain._ ”

Oh. Steve thinks he does a pretty damned good impression of Sam when the man is completely done with everyone’s shit. “Oh? Is that how this is going to be, _Captain?_ Why do you even have a military rank on your shirt, Agent?”

“Two tours in Afghanistan with Airborne gives you that distinction,” Murphy snaps. “Unlike some iced over relic from the Second World War, I know how this works.”

Bucky squawks angrily in Steve’s ear. “I’ve got a fuckin’ bead on him, Cap. Give me the word, please let me blow this asshole off this earth.”

Steve only smiles. “That’s rich, comin’ from you. That’s not what I was asking, Agent. Why are you wearing a goddamned target on your left shoulder?”

“Excuse me?”

Steve sighs. “If you’d been captured, Hydra would have had you strung up and talking in a few days. Trust me. You wouldn’t like it very much.”

“Oh, like your friend Barnes?”

Without any further thought, he reaches out and fists his huge hands into Agent Murphy’s lapels and yanks him right off his feet. “You listen here, you puny little shitstain,” he hisses, centimeters from Murphy’s nose. “You say whatever the fuck you wanna say about me, that’s fine. You start talkin’ about Bucky, I start breaking your goddamned bones. I’m not gonna say some schoolyard bullshit like ‘you take that back or I’ll beat you up’. Naw. You’d better have your resignation on Fury’s desk yesterday, you punk ass motherfucker, because your shitty name badge isn’t the only target on you right now. You are a hunted man, and you are being hunted by the baddest asshole in this whole outfit.”

Agent Murphy, bless his short-sighted survival instinct, doesn’t back down. If anything, he gets further into Steve’s face. “Oh yeah? Who?”

Steve leans back, and the look of triumph on Murphy’s face lasts a mere second before it’s wiped away by a blur that passes between their faces. Steve grins, all teeth and dirt, as Murphy pales. “Him.” Murphy’s eyes tick down to the arrow, still quivering in the ground, then cross as he tries to look at his own nose. As Steve watches, a bead of blood forms on the very tip and trickles into a nostril. “Don’t want to piss off the best shot on the team, now do we?”

Agent Murphy mutters something. Steve cocks his head. “Wanna try that again?”

“...no, sir.”

“We’ll deal with the sarcasm later, Agent. For now, get the ever-loving fuck out of my face before -”

“Before _what_ , Captain Rogers?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “Well, look who decided to show up to save the day.”

Nick Fury stepped into their space. “Do you want to let go of Agent Murphy and let him finish his job?”

“Naw, I think I’d like to see that asshole taken down a few notches, myself.” And just like that, Bucky is at Steve’s shoulder. How the hell… and then he sees Sam’s wings on Bucky’s back and Steve inwardly groans. “But let’s leave that decision up to Cap.”

Steve opens his eyes to glare at Nick. “Does his job include trying to kill the Avengers?”

“I said he got in the path -”

“And I told you to shut your fucking cake hole!” Steve growled. 

“Steve, let’s not, not here.” Bucky lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder, but Steve rolls it off. 

“Stand down, Rogers.” Fury’s voice brooks no argument. Like that ever stopped Steve before. He flexes his hands, making a show of letting Murphy down and away, and smooths out his lapels. Then he turns and faces Fury. “That’s better,” Fury says.

“Oh, you think he’s standing down?” Bucky snorts. “Steve, let’s go. Not worth it.”

“That’s enough, Barnes. I heard everything. _Everything,_ ” Fury repeats, his one eye narrowing at Steve. “Including your gentle recommendation that Murphy resigns. I’ll be talking to you about that.”

“Like hell. I want to go the hell home. Everything hurts. Tony’s welded into his suit. I’m hungry, and apparently your people have this all under control, somehow.” Steve grumbles, shifting on his foot. “Not one of my people were hurt until these dickheads showed up. With all due respect, sir, you’ve been fielding some real winners lately. ”

“And I’ll take care of that, too. But you better think twice about opening your mouth like that around my men.”

Steve freezes. Bucky’s mouth drops. Everyone else waits. And waits. Sam whispers, “Oh, man, this is a bad idea,” just before Steve punches Fury and Bucky tackles Steve. 

Later, Bucky will swear that he was just too slow to catch Steve. Natasha will say that he was just waiting to see what would happen. Turns out they both were right.

 

 

“So, when will Nick let Steve out of Solitary?”

“When, and I quote,” Tony mumbles around a tuna sandwich from the cafeteria, “ ‘When that man learns how to play nice with others’, end quote.”

Bucky laughs and plops himself down on the couch, throwing his feet up on the coffee table. “Yeah, that’s probably not going to happen anytime soon. Steve was always the ‘If you piss me off, I’m gonna lop you off at the knees ‘cuz I can’t reach your head’ kinda guy.”

“Oh?” Tony snorts. “I sort of believe that, but at the same time, I really don’t. He’s all for ‘let’s talk this over’ and meetings and anger management.”

Everyone in the commons area turns and stares as Bucky has a laughing meltdown on the couch. Tony, Sam, and Natasha glance worriedly at each other, then back at him. Bruce is the one that finally broaches the question once Bucky’s calmed down. “So, I take it he hasn’t always been the kind of person to take the more friendly route?”

This only sends Bucky back into hysterics. 

“I’d like to point out that this is entirely out of character and frightening.” Tony scoots a little further back, the metal chair protesting the movement. “Not to mention a little over the top.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky gasps for air. “That’s hilarious. Steve?” He giggles. “Anger management?” He flops onto his side. “That’s one for the papers.”

“Are you alright there, Barnes?” Sam is laughing, too. 

“No, I’m dyin’ over here.”

“Well, stop dying and tell us what’s so funny about Steve finally blowing his top,” Clint leans over the back of the couch and curls his hands around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him back to a sitting position. Bucky leans back and pecks Clint on the nose, and everyone else makes fake retching noises and groans. Clint grins. “And you all can go screw lightbulbs.”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky bats a thrown tuna sandwich out of the air. “Enough with the flying food. Trust me, that wasn’t an overreaction. You guys really have no clue who Steve is, and that’s darb.”

“That’s what?” Tony takes a swig of his water. 

“Darb...uh, great. Perfect.” Bucky shrugs. “Anyway…”

“We know Steve,” Natasha interjects.

“Nope.” Bucky shakes his head. “You know Captain America, you know the facade of the man Steve Rogers thinks he has to be for the press and for his so-called ‘friends’ -“ He holds up a hand before anyone can start complaining - “And I heard about the running joke at the last Hydra base you guys took down, about his mouth.”

Thor nods. “It seems the vocabulary of Captain Rogers has gotten much more colorful since then.”

“Not since then, Blondie.” Bucky leans back into Clint’s embrace as Tony mouths ‘that’s my line’ at Natasha. “Steve’s always been a firecracker. Hell, he’s been more than that. He used to get us in so much trouble it was a wonder we actually left the jailhouse enough to go to school. And nevermind when Ms. Rogers would get her hands on him after having to come get us for the third time that week. Bless her heart.” Bucky’s got a wistful expression, eyes miles and decades away. “Best times of my life, lemme tell ya.” 

Everyone’s listening now.

“There’s this one asshole, a real jerk, name of O’Donnelly. Short Irish bastard, beat cop, never did like us kids up on Fulton Street. Always lookin’ for a reason to smack us around with that billy club of his or whathaveya. Well, Steve got himself into a scrape by Mrs. Mong’s shop down a few blocks from the flophouse we lived in. Three guys, always bigger than him; stronger by far, too. I jump in since they’re in my grade. We - well, I - make short work of ‘em by the time Officer O’Donnelly shows up, all bluster and that damned club in his hand, whistle in his mouth. I’m the bigger kid, so he takes a swing at me, and Steve just runs right into him, hittin’ him like we see the old boxers down at docks hit their opponents. One, two to the gut, hollerin’ like he’s got his willy stuck in a elevator door.”

Tony gapes. Natasha snorts. Clint’s trying to hold in his laughter. Bruce is just staring, and Thor’s nodding. “Rogers was born to be a great warrior, was he not?”

“Ah, hell.” Bucky grins. “His body wasn’t, but his brain was. That’s not even the best part. When he’s being dragged by the back of his shirt to the cop car, cussin’ up a storm and flailing with all his energy, he goes into an asthma fit. Starts gasping and coughing, and O’Donnelly just throws him in the front. Just to get him to calm down, right?” Bucky starts laughing again. “So he’s in the car, no cuffs no nothin’, and O’Donnelly turns to shout at me. Then Steve gets this idea in his head, looks at me through the windshield, and grins. I’m just standing there, covered in dirt and grime and bruises, shaking my head, and Steve gets into the driver’s seat, asthma and all, and steals the fuckin’ car! Dumbshit O’Donnelly left the damn thing runnin’ and Steve’s gone, just like that, careening down the street like he’s payin’ the taxes in the place!”

“What!” Tony squawks, spitting out his water. Clint howls with mirth. 

“What was he thinking?” Bruce is in shock. “Why would he do that?”

“Because Steven Grant Rogers is an asshole, barely alive and angry about it. He’s angry enough for the world. Because he grabs at the first thing he thinks of, no matter what it is, because yesterday could have been his last day and tomorrow might well be. He fights and yells and won’t stop when you tell him to, even if it’s for his own good. Steve’s a self-righteous son of a bitch with a chip on his shoulder and a firehose aimed at the first fucker that crosses his path. And son, don’t cross him when he’s got his fur up because he’ll steamroll right over you.” Bucky still has that grin plastered on his face, but it’s changing into something else. “And the seas are still rough and the clouds still form in the sky. Sun still rises in the east and sets in the west.”

Thor smiles. “Nothing has changed, I see.”

“Nothing will ever change. He’s still the same firecracker, the same bombshell dropping in the middle of London at midnight.”

Tony wonders at all this new information about Captain Tight-Ass. “So all that beautiful sailor swearing that he spouted when that agent said one tiny little thing about you…”

“Yeah. He learned that shit from the dockworkers and the Navy boys. Ended up teaching me and a few others on our block. God, the mouth on that boy could peel paint off battleships.”

“He’s pretty protective, too,” Bruce mentions.

“Yeah. Just be glad he hasn’t peed on you to mark you as his territory.”

“Um…”

“And that’s where that conversation is going to end. Good night, everyone! I’ve got a suit to fix and a Captain to break out of Solitary to take out for drinks.” Tony gets out of his chair. 

“You are not getting him drunk, Stark. Not possible.” Natasha stands up too.

“A man’s gotta try, right? Besides, he defended my honor on the battlefield. Thor knows a few things about that, don’t you?” Tony claps Thor on the shoulder, and the big man nods slowly. 

“I shall bring ‘the good stuff’ as you Midgardians call it,” he says, then joins Tony and Natasha.

“That might work. Worked on that old guy,” Sam grins. 

“What old guy?” Bucky pulls away from Clint, and they both join the ‘let’s break Captain America out of confinement and drink all night’ party.

“Trust me, it was great. A great party. If you hadn’t been such an ass about coming back to Steve after that whole debacle, you would have been there.”

“Hey, I was in the middle of putting the puzzle pieces of my fuckin’ brain back together, don’t give me that shit.” Bucky pushes Sam off-balance and laughs.

“Did everyone here forget that the blue juice Thor is hiding from us actually got Steve drunk that night?” Tony leads the party down the hall to the holding cells. “He was waxing poetic at everyone he could catch.”

“At least he wasn’t trying to talk up the help,” Natasha mutters.

“Oh, he was.” Tony turns and walks backwards. “Though I don’t think DUM-E was amenable to a night out on the town.”

Sam bursts into laughter, startling an accountant. “That was hilarious!”

“Who’s Dummy?” 

Tony points at Bucky. “DUM-E is the first robot that I built that could actually do things. Not much more than a robotic arm, but it moves. And Steve hit on it.”

Bucky groaned and drew his metal hand over his face. “Oh, Lord. Don’t get him drunk. He’s so desperate, he’ll get a handjob from a robot.”

The resulting laughter rings out in the hall as Tony pushes open the Detention Hall doors. As one, the Avengers go forward to rescue one of their own from the clutches of the Man and take him out for a good time.


End file.
